


animosity

by mirocthound



Series: someone must've taken you while i was stuck asleep [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depression, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Loss of love, M/M, Multi, Other, anger issues, buckle up folks this is a wild ride, loss of a loved one, sorry elliott LMAOOOO, yeehaw fellas, yup this is just getting more and more painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirocthound/pseuds/mirocthound
Summary: anger was a recurring theme in octavio's life.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt, Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva, Bloodhound/Octane | Octavio Silva, Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Series: someone must've taken you while i was stuck asleep [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665463
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	animosity

**Author's Note:**

> it feel so good to finally get this idea out onto paper. anyways yeehaw, read the tags this shit is angsty.

Anger was a recurring theme in Octavio’s life.    
  
It was an emotion he was familiar with. When he’d been little, anger was something he used as a crutch when the only other option was being sad. When he was trapped in the hospital bed, hands clutching desperately at the sheets as he struggled to force himself up into a sitting position, anger had swelled his tongue as doctors spoke down to him about the consequences of his poor decisions. When his parents had told him that they’d lost all hope in him ever being the son they’d hoped he could be, anger had been there to wrap tight around his lungs and scorch up his throat.    
  
Anger was a burden, but he was also grateful for anger. It protected him from having to feel anything else.    
  
Anger was all he ever felt now.    
  
There were just so many people to be angry at-- The techs behind the games, who let this fatal error slip between their careless fingers. Elliott, for going into his final battle with a cocky grin and a flirty wink, forgetting that they were gambling with their lives every single time they leapt from the dropship. Himself, for not treasuring every moment he had with him as much as he should’ve, for always moving faster and faster and  _ faster _ instead of stopping to truly be grateful for the wonderful times they’d shared.    
  
Hound. For abandoning him.    
  
They were there, sitting on the couch, staring out the window, pushing their meal around on their plate. But they weren’t  _ really _ there with him-- they were miles away in their own mind, masked under so many thoughts and feelings and regrets that they couldn’t possibly be present, couldn’t  _ possibly _ be in the moment.    
  
He felt guilty, for being so angry at them. But he couldn’t help but feel tossed aside. At first, he’d given them the space, given them the time. But how long could they keep dancing around each other like this? Absently going through the motions, mindlessly watching TV and doing laundry, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, chain-smoking cigarettes out on the balcony and gazing out over the sprawling image of Solace City?    
  
He thought at some point, they’d be able to talk about it. He thought at some point, he’d be able to cry on their shoulder, and they’d be able to cry on his.    
  
They seemed more content with just turning inward and pretending he wasn’t there.    
  
It’s not like he didn’t understand why-- because he felt it too. There had never been a point where he’d known Hound without Elliott-- They’d been two parts of a whole. The relationship he’d shared with them had  _ also _ been a part of the relationship he’d shared with  _ him.  _ They’d been a collective-- never one and not the other. Every moment he spent with them was a reminder of the time he’d spend with _ Elliott _ \-- Curled up on the couch for a movie, comically crammed into the tub to try and bathe together, even though it was clearly much too small to fit three grown adults. Laughing over dinner, making a spoon-train in bed before comfortably falling asleep, flirting idly as they’d slunk across the ring, ducking behind rocks and rushing in with guns ablazing.    
  
Octavio had never known a life without their love as a collective. Losing Elliott had been impossibly hard-- worse then losing his own fucking  _ legs.  _   
  
But the final blow had been losing Hound, too.    
  
It was like there was nothing left. Even as days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to one whole, miserable year without Elliott by their sides. He waited for them to return to him. He’d been more patient then he’d ever been in his  _ entire life _ , waiting for them, and yet they never came home.    
  
They stayed, lightyears out of his grasp. 

A ghost, haunting the halls. When he squeezed their hand, they never squeezed back. The weight of their arm around his shoulder as they rested on the couch no longer brought him comfort-- The sight of them asleep by his side no longer made him feel tranquil.    
  
He’d tried so many times to reach out, to push his way into their head and stand his ground, make it clear that he wasn’t going to let himself be shut away like the rest of the world, and every time they’d persevere.    
  
Even when they moved out of their old place and into a smaller complex, trying to escape the grief that clung tightly to those walls, they’d just brought the grief with them, until this opportunity for moving on was just as stifling as it had been, back there in that sad excuse of a home.    
  
Maybe he was selfish, for wanting to put it past him. He knew this was a long process, he knew this was something that sometimes took lifetimes to work past. But they weren’t even  _ trying _ \-- they seemed to be content with staying trapped in time, refusing to throw out Elliott’s long expired eyeshadow palettes, unable to rid themself of the old face masks that stayed stashed in the bathroom drawers, keeping boxes and boxes of old tech stacked in the corner of the bedroom.    
  
Sometimes, when he’d come home after escaping the house all day, he’d find them a bottle and a half of wine in, silently crying into his old holosuit.    
  
The bloodstains had never been fully washed out. Octavio’s stomach twisted every time he saw it-- bringing back the pain in a fresh wave that almost brought him to his knees. He couldn’t stand that feeling anymore-- He didn’t want to remember Elliott with red bubbling up his throat, eyes wide with terror, hands gripping tightly into Hound’s gear as he struggled oh-so-desperately to cling to life.    
  
They seemed to be the opposite-- instead of trying to work past the pain, they wanted to linger in it. Wallow, like a pig in the mud, until the suffering was all they ever knew. 

  
He was beyond impatient. He’d gotten through his own rough patches, all by himself, because they hadn’t been there to help him when he needed it. He’d wanted to forgive them and try to work together, to at least keep some of the love they’d once had. Yet recently, it felt like they were dead weight on his back, dragging him back down again and again into the loss.    
  
He couldn’t keep reliving this horrible moment. He couldn’t stay stuck here forever.    
  
Mostly, he was angry because he still loved them. No, still loved who they  _ had been _ . He’d loved their dry humor, their coy remarks, their sharp toothed smiles and even sharper wit. He’d loved their passion and their anger, he’d loved the parts of them that never seemed to be tamed.    
  
But this shell of a person he slept beside every night? He didn’t love them.  _ Hated _ them, even, in his darker hours, when their shuffling feet and eternal silence made him want to scream. When he'd stand before them, begging to be seen, only for their glazed eyes to wash over him instead. He’d stayed, hoping to one day catch a glimpse of the person he’d lost the same day he lost Elliott.    
  
But now, eighteen months in, and they were still gone.   
  
He didn’t know what else he could possibly do. The anger inside of him was growing tangible, until it was all he was. Passive aggressive remarks at the dinner table, slammed doors as he left for a desperate breath of air that  _ didn’t _ taste like eternal mourning. Falling asleep on the couch, because he couldn’t bear to climb into bed with them, where they slept soundlessly, clinging to one of Elliott’s old shirts like it were a lifeline.    
  
What worried him the most, though, was the impending day that the anger he felt towards them would dissipate. Burn itself out, and sizzle away.    
  
Because then, he’d have no feeling for them left. 

**Author's Note:**

> two down, three to go. i promise it'll be worth it just hang in there.


End file.
